


The Dangers Of An Evil Mind

by madnessiseverything



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Dark Allison, Dark Lydia, Dark Scott, Dark Stiles, dark secrets, killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:51:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4526271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They tried hard to forget, to hide. And they succeeded admirably. That is until one day a man with startling blue eyes and a smirk uncovers their secret with frightening ease.<br/>"It's a funny thing, guilt. Some feel it more than others. Some people get consumed by it, others would barely call it an itch. The four of you show different stages of guilt and it's quite entertaining, really. But I have to give it to you, your acting skills are fantastic. I am sure nobody else suspects a thing. Hat off, kids."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lydia

“Leave me alone!” Lydia pulled her wrist out of Jackson’s hand and turned away, wiping at the stray tears on her face. Her white sleeve came away with grey smudges on it. Jackson scoffed behind her back. 

“All of a sudden you want me to leave? Wow, Lydia, make up your goddamn mind.” Lydia whirled back around and pushed at Jackson’s chest. He stumbled back in surprise. 

“I told you to leave! Stop following me!” Jackson narrowed his eyes. 

“Following you? You were the one running after me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Oh Jackson, please don’t leave! I love you, take me, please don’t leave.” He had pitched his voice higher, imitating her with a look of disgust on his face. 

Lydia felt hot anger in her chest. She wanted to slap him. Jackson stepped back and shook his head. “You’re pathetic, seriously. I can’t believe I chose you to put on my arm.” 

Lydia snapped. “Put on your arm?!” She shoved at his chest again. “I am not just some trophy, an award for your popularity! I am a human being, I deserve respect!” She followed when Jackson backed away, hands fisting in his shirt. “I thought you would warm up, Jackson, I thought you could change!” 

Lydia didn’t see the way the hill dropped suddenly right behind Jackson. She stared at his unmoving face, anger boiling over. “I hate you!” And she pushed again. 

This time Jackson didn’t stumble, or look at her with exasperation. This time he lost his footing on the grass. This time he slipped. 

Lydia was frozen, hand wrapped around her own arm. Time slowed down and the world fell silent. She watched as Jackson tumbled down the steep hill, how his fingers desperately grasped at the grass. Her fingernails dug into her arm as Jackson slammed against a rock. 

It was as if the crack of his skull vibrated in the air around her, echoing loudly in her ears. “Jackson!” It was more of a sob than anything else, her voice cracked. 

The world sped up again and the sound of a car on the road below her made Lydia drop to the ground. Sobs wracked her body. It was just a fall, maybe a concussion. Jackson would be fine. 

Her heart thumped in her chest. The car disappeared and Lydia crawled forward. She knew Jackson would be fine. He would need a hospital, maybe stitches. He would be fine. He would hate her. 

Lydia froze again, eyes wide. She stared at the road. Jackson was far away from the blacktop, the driver couldn’t have seen him. They would have stopped had they seen him, right? 

“Oh god.” Lydia flinched at her own voice. She had to get Jackson to a hospital. She had to find a way to get him back into town. Why did she have to run on foot? Lydia slowly pushed herself up to her knees. 

“It’s okay, it’s fine.” She put her hand on her chest and tried to slow her breath. She had to calm down. Jackson needed her to be calm, clinical. Slowly Lydia crawled down the hill. She didn’t trust her legs. How would she get those grass stains out of her clothes? Her mother would be so mad. 

Lydia shook her head. Jackson was more important. She had almost reached him. What would she say in the hospital? He had slipped, hit his head. Simple, that happens all the time. Lydia reached Jackson; her shaking hands gripped his shoulders. Slowly she turned him onto his side. She had to make sure he wouldn’t choke. 

What would he do once he woke up? Would he remember? Would he accuse her of trying to kill him? No, Jackson knew that it was a mistake. Didn’t he? Lydia stared at his face. Blood was slowly trickling down his forehead. It looked bad. He would be so angry. He would be furious. Lydia knew she was shaking terribly, her arms felt too heavy. 

“I’m sorry, Jackson. I didn’t mean it.” Lydia grabbed his arm and draped it across her shoulder. She had to get to the road; one of the cars would stop. Surely they could drive her to the hospital. She needed to get there fast, Jackson was bleeding a lot. 

Lydia stared at Jackson, the fight replaying in her mind. She had been a trophy. She wasn’t stupid; she knew Jackson didn’t love her. But it still hurt. She was so much more than a trophy. She deserved more. Jackson began to slip again and Lydia dropped his arm. 

She didn’t know why she did it. She got up on her feet. She was still crying and her eyes burned. She angrily wiped at her own face and looked back down at Jackson. It was his fault. She should just leave him here. He wasn’t bleeding that badly, she knew it just looked it. He would soon wake up and then Lydia would deal with him. She forced herself to nod and slowly backed away from Jackson’s unconscious form. 

He deserved that fall. He would have to get himself up and away. Lydia deemed it a fitting punishment. He had already stopped bleeding, he would be fine. Lydia looked back up the hill. Yes, she would go home now. She had to get her clothes washed, those stains would be awful. With one last glance to Jackson she hastily pulled herself back up the hill. 

Her heels dug into the grass and made it hard for her to walk as fast as she wanted to. It was more of an instinct, she told herself. Jackson was tough, he would be fine. She ignored the little voice in the back of her head, whispering that she was to blame, that she was a bad person for leaving. “He had it coming,” Lydia said to herself, her voice too quiet and hoarse. 

It wasn’t until the next morning when she found out Jackson wasn’t as tough as she had thought, until someone called her to say Jackson Whittemore had been found dead on the side of the road leading into Beacon Hills. Lydia threw up and stayed home from school that day.


	2. Allison

“It was him, Allison. You are a strong girl. You can make your mother proud.” Allison heard the echo of her grandfather’s voice as she loaded the gun. Gerard Argent had put it into her shaking hands three days after her mother’s death. Allison gritted her teeth. Everybody had told her it had been an accident; nobody would say how it exactly happened. 

Allison wasn’t blind. She could see that they were hiding something from her. Even her father. But then Gerard had come into town. He had sat down with her and told her the truth. A man named Derek Hale had attacked her mother on the side of the street, had stabbed her. When she had asked why, her grandfather shook his head. 

“That man is crazy, Allison. He didn’t need a reason.” He had shown her how the gun worked, patiently. He gave her a picture of the murderer, that Derek Hale. She had never seen him before, but that didn’t matter. Allison had to avenge her mother. She just had to. 

Allison ran her fingers over the muzzle of the gun and straightened her back. She was going to do her mother justice. It was her job. She pushed away from the wall she had been leaning against and looked around. Derek Hale would come by this spot soon, she had seen him do so for the past two weeks. 

Rage was bubbling just underneath her skin. Her mother had not deserved to die, had not deserved the ignorance the authorities had towards her death. But Allison would make things right. Her grandfather had shown her how important that was. She started pacing. 

“For god’s sake, show up you bastard.” Her voice bounced off the walls of the small alley and Allison stopped, listening for anything that would meddle with her plan. The gun had a silencer on it, nobody was going to know. Nobody would miss Derek Hale anyways, she was done her research. He lived alone. 

Steps approached the alley that lead to Derek Hale’s apartment and Allison squared her shoulders. The image of her mother was burned into her mind, taking over. She was filled with rage and grief. She would make this right. 

A broad silhouette appeared at the entry of the alley, walking slowly towards where Allison stood. Allison waited, waited until she could see the face of Derek Hale, the murderer. And then she aimed her gun. 

“Derek Hale!” Her voice was steady, angry. The guy stopped in his tracks, staring at her. Allison made two long, fast strides. Now she stood in front of him, face to face with the guy that took her mother from her. He was staring at the gun, eyes wide. 

“Who are you?” His voice wasn’t as scared as Allison wanted him to be. She pushed the gun against his chest. 

“You don’t get to know my name,” she hissed. “Not after what you did!” The guy looked scared now, eyes flicking around. 

“Don’t think of running,” Allison said and dug the mouth of the gun deeper into the guy’s shirt. He raised his hands. 

“Please. You have the wrong guy! I didn’t do anything!” 

“Don’t you dare plead innocent! You killed my mother!” Allison didn’t want to hear more of him. She couldn’t even care for the reason. She wanted him to suffer. 

“I didn’t-” Allison quickly let the safety snap and the guy cut off his sentence. 

“Get on your knees.” Allison hated how her voice had started shaking. Gerard had given her the scenario; they had planned everything that she would do. She couldn’t show weakness now. The guy dropped to his knees and looked up at her, a mixture of confusion and fear playing on his face. Allison aimed the gun between his eyes. 

She heard a car round the corner and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She had to finish this now. Allison locked eyes with the murderer of her mother and pulled the trigger. It wasn’t quiet enough and Allison flinched, hastily stepping back. Derek Hale fell to his side. His eyes were staring at nothing. 

Allison didn’t know when her free hand had clapped over her mouth. She dropped the gun on top of her bag lying discarded by her feet. The situation finally caught up with her and Allison hated the way her entire body shook. Slowly she crouched down, turning Hale onto his back. 

This was supposed to feel good, Gerard said. She wasn’t supposed to stare at his face, the hole in his head and feel like this. Nausea built in the pit of her stomach and she turned her head, focusing on the brick wall instead. Gerard said she would feel victory, right? 

Allison scrambled back from the body. She had to leave. She had to get out, get away. She stuffed the gun back into her bag. This was right; she had done something good for the world. She shouldered the bag and stared at the man in front of her. She felt sick again. This was wrong. She turned away and started walking, hands shaky as she texted her grandfather. He told her to tell him once it had been done. 

“Oh god.” Allison wasn’t sure if she really said it out loud or if she thought it. She had to get out. This was wrong; she wasn’t supposed to do that. She didn’t do it, did she? Gerard told her to do it. Allison pushed herself to walk quicker. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted this. Christ, her father could never find out. She couldn’t let him lose faith in her, she couldn’t let him know. Allison cursed when she felt tears against her face. She looked around to find herself near the high school. Gerard said she should wait here. 

Allison shook her head violently. Nobody was around to see it, but Allison continued and started walking. She wouldn’t wait for Gerard. She had to get home; she had to get rid of this. She flicked him a text so that he wouldn’t worry and sped up, bag hitting her side continuously. She wasn’t supposed to kill someone with only 15. She was supposed to be an average teenager. Gerard had ruined it. Anger pushed against her shock and Allison tightened the strap of her bag. She wouldn’t go to school that day, would stay home sick. Her stomach was turning; she felt so, so wrong.


	3. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: possible triggers! sleeping pills are used in large quantity

“Calm down!” Scott flinched near the steps. He clung to the staircase and peered down into the hallway, where his mother was standing. He saw his father’s head, too. 

“I can’t keep doing this, Rafael.” His mother’s voice was sad, and so, so angry. Scott hated when her voice was like that. It always was when his father came home late, smelling of alcohol and sweat. Scott hated that smell. “You don’t even care, do you?” 

“I care Melissa, trust me.” There was a slur in his father’s words and Scott got angry. His father didn’t care. He made his mum cry, made her sad and angry. Scott avoided his father when he was like this. He was scared of him. He knew he shouldn’t be, he was old enough. He was a teenager now. He could handle it. But he still hid from his father’s stumbling figure. 

“No, no you don’t. I have had enough of explaining your behavior to Scott! I shouldn’t have to tell our son that you couldn’t be there for family night because you were drinking your ass of in a bar!” Scott saw his mother’s arms flail. She was tired; she hadn’t slept for two days. Scott had asked her about the hospital, she had smiled weakly and told him to go to bed. Scott stared down at his free hand. The bottle of pills in his fist was shaking slightly. He had read how good they were at putting people to sleep. He needed his father to calm down, to leave his mum alone. He scrambled back into his room as he heard his father stumble up the stairs to the bathroom. Scott knew his mum would refuse to let him into their bedroom later on, she would tell him to take the couch. 

Scott looked down at the pills in his hand. He knew it was a bad thing, to want his father out of his life. Some kids at his school didn’t have a father and Scott felt he should be happy. But his father wasn’t nice, he made Melissa sad. And Scott knew his mum didn’t deserve to be sad. It made him angry. 

He heard his father in the bathroom, heard him talk to himself. Scott bit his lip. He listened at the door, waited until he heard his mum come up the stairs. He heard her speak to his father. 

“Don’t even think about coming close to the bedroom. Tomorrow we will talk, when you aren’t a blubbering idiot with no self-respect.” Her voice was hard. Scott didn’t want her to have to speak like that. He hastily climbed into bed, pulling the covers over his head. His mum opened the door and he peeked through a small gap. 

Melissa McCall looked too tired. She managed a small smile and Scott was so angry. She never should have to look like this. She shouldn’t have to put up with his father. Scott wanted her to be happy. She deserved to be the happiest woman in the world. Scott waited until he heard the bedroom door shut. He listened to his mum’s footsteps and the second door that closed. He jumped up. 

His father wasn’t a good man. Scott repeated that sentence in his head over and over again. Sure, he worked for the FBI, he helped solve crimes. But Scott didn’t think his father was a good man. His mother was a good person and deserved better. Scott heard a thud that told him his father had hit the wall. Loud, clunky footsteps were too loud for Scott and anger vibrated through his body. His father was not a good man. 

Scott opened his door, thankful that it was his mum’s door that always creaked and not his. He listened and heard his father drop onto the couch. Scott would show him how bad of a man he was. 

Scott crept down the stairs, listening to his father’s snores. Alcohol made him fall asleep quick and Scott looked into the living room. His father was too big for the couch; his feet hung over the end. His mouth was open wide and Scott looked down onto the pills. His knuckles were white. He needed water. The pills were swallowed with water. He walked to the kitchen sink and filled a tall glass from the tap. His hands were trembling slightly and water spilled over his arm. 

He cursed but continued his way to the couch. He kneeled down next to his father’s head and stared at his face. The snores were loud; Scott was scared his mother would come down. He had to do it now. He knelt back down next to his father and put the glass of water onto the coffee table, popping open the pill bottle. He shook the bottle and pills fell into his palm. He had no idea how many he would need. A single pill dropped to the ground as his fingers shook. 

Scott took hold of the water glass and dropped the pill into his father’s mouth, pouring a bit of water after it. His father swallowed without a twitch of his eye and Scott hurried to repeat the procedure. His hands shook, water spilled onto the floor and Scott wanted nothing more than to just crawl back into his bed. But he couldn’t get rid of his mother’s angry, sad voice. His father coughed and turned his head away and Scott almost dropped the glass. He had to finish this; he couldn’t have his mother that sad again. 

Time stretched, Scott was terrified. But he continued to drop pills into his father’s mouth. He started becoming frantic, unsure when to stop. His father started moving, and Scott cursed inwardly. He swallowed and pushed five more pills into his father’s mouth. He forced water down the man’s throat. Scott started as his father didn’t react. Scott looked down at the bottle. How many had he used? He didn’t know. 

Scott scrambled back, eyes wide. His father was still lying there. Did he have a high tolerance to sleeping pills? Did he need more than the average person? Scott wished he knew. His eyes flicked to the bottle on the ground and the empty glass. He had to get back into bed. He felt so, so cold. 

Scott’s feet carried him up the stairs; he avoided the two old ones that always made a noise. He stared at the door to his mum’s bedroom. He hoped she would be happy. He needed her happy. Scott went into his room and climbed into bed. His eyes focused on the glow star residue on his ceiling. Stiles and he had climbed on chairs to get them up there years ago. 

“Sorry, Mum,” Scott whispered into the dark. “He made you sad, I want you happy. Be happy again.” Scott folded his hands on his chest and closed his eyes, refusing to let his father’s image show up again. 

Scott stayed home from school the next morning. Melissa McCall found her husband dead on the couch. She broke down, yelling that she had intended to divorce him. Scott hid in his bedroom, hands shaking and eyes wide.


	4. Stiles

“I’m just getting some coffee. I will be back in no time. I promise.” Stiles looked up from where he had folded himself on the plastic chair. His dad was smiling down at his mother, his hands wrapped around hers. Stiles stood up quickly. His dad’s eyes snapped up at him, a question written all over his face. 

Stiles couldn’t be alone in the hospital room with his mum. He just couldn’t. The way she stared at him, her eyes wide with fear. Fear Stiles knew was directed at him. She had told him that. She had told his dad that he was dangerous, that she couldn’t bear to see him. 

His dad had shaken his head. “He’s just a child, Claudia. He’s our kid.” Stiles hated the way his mum shied away from him every time he came to visit. He hated the way she recoiled when he said hello. His hands clenched inside the pockets of his hoodie. 

“Can I come with you, dad?” Stiles didn’t want to be alone with his mum. He didn’t want to hear her say he was hurting her. He looked at his dad, pleading. He could see how his dad furrowed his brow, the same expression he made when Stiles asked about cases of the Sheriff department. “Please? I promise I won’t ask to get anything from the vending machine!” 

The sheriff shook his head slowly. “No, Stiles. The halls are busy right now.” Stiles knew that. He had heard a nurse talk about the car pileup that had happened. He bit his lip. His dad kept trying to get Claudia to see Stiles as her son again. Stiles knew he would have to stay. 

“I will be back as soon as possible.” And his dad was out of the room. Stiles cowered back into the chair, his leg jumping up and down. He refused to look up at his mum. His fingers tapped against the armrest. 

“Be quiet!” Stiles flinched. “Can’t you be still?!” He wanted to look up and talk back. No he couldn’t be still, his mum - the old one - knew that. But he kept his eyes down and tried his hardest to stop his leg. 

“I know why you’re here,” his mother’s quiet, strained voice came to his ears. Stiles tasted blood in his mouth. He wanted to block out her voice so badly, but his brain focused on her voice. He heard her, crystal clear. 

“You can fool my husband all you want. I know that you’re trying to kill me.” Stiles’ head shot up. His mother had never said that before. Her eyes were focused on him, wide and scared. “You’re trying to kill me.” Her voice was louder now and Stiles felt the way his eyes stung. He couldn’t cry, he just couldn’t. His mum would get angrier. 

“Stop looking at me like that!” Stiles jumped out of his chair. He was scared, but something different was pushing against his lungs. He knew it was anger, he had felt it so many times before. “Stop it! Stop looking at me!” Stiles slowly walked over to the hospital bed without thinking. He could feel his hand twitch. 

“What are you doing?! Get away from me!” Stiles rested his hands on the edge of the bed. He was just tall enough to be at the same height as his mother’s head. She pushed herself away from him. “Get away! Stop!” 

Stiles was angry now. More anger than sadness was spreading in his body. His mum was making him so angry. “Stop yelling, mum.” He swallowed when his voice came out cracked. 

“Go away! You’re trying to murder me!” Stiles wondered why none of the nurses came in to check. They never did when his mum yelled. Stiles reached out for his mum and she smacked his hands away. It hurt. Stiles pulled away and locked eyes with the woman in the bed. She hated him, he had to realize that. She didn’t love him, did she? 

“I said, stop yelling.” He was happy when his voice was calm. He raised his hands again, but hesitated at his mum’s whimper. She was pressing her lips together into a thin, white line. Stiles put his hand onto her arm, fingers wrapping around her elbow. 

“You’re trying to kill me,” his mum whispered and Stiles couldn’t handle the anger anymore. 

“Stop saying that!” His hand tightened and his mum’s eyes widened. “Stop yelling, stop talking! Dad doesn’t understand, it hurts when you say that!” 

“But it’s true! You are hurting me.” And Stiles had enough. His hands wandered up to his mum’s shoulders, then up to her neck. The old mum, the nice one, he missed her. He wanted her back, wanted to be home and curl up next to her.

“Stop. Saying. That.” He had gritted his teeth. He had to stop her from talking, it was hurting him. His fingers curled around his mother’s throat and he squeezed. 

Her arms started flailing, scratching at his arms. Hoarse whimpers were coming from her mouth but Stiles didn’t let go. He was so angry. It was all her fault. Choked noises replaced her whimpers and her hits against his forearms get weaker as he put more pressure on his hands. He just wanted her to shut up. He stares as his mum’s eyes bulge. He couldn’t get his hands off, she was finally quiet. 

Loud footsteps on the quiet hall outside pull him out of his fascination with his mum’s pale face. Stiles scrambled back and curled up on the floor next to the hospital bed. He stared at the floor in front of his face. His body was shaking. He tried clutching his knees to his chest. He wanted his body to just stop. 

“Stiles?” Stiles couldn’t look up. His eyes were frozen on the floor. He heard his father come further into the room. 

“Claudia! Oh god, Claudia!” And then it got loud in the room. His dad yelled, nurses finally poured into the room. Stiles pulled himself into the very corner of the room. Why couldn’t he stop shaking? He stared at the frantic people around his mother’s bed. At least she was quiet; at least she stopped calling him names. Stiles closed his eyes against the chaos in front of him. He could feel his fingernails through the fabric of his jeans. He missed his old mum.


	5. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is pretty dialogue heavy, and just a slow starter to get the characters where I want them to be. I promise chapters will become longer from now on!

“Oh come on, Scotty. Live a little!” Scott rolled his eyes as he pushed open the school doors. Stiles stumbled after him. 

“Stiles, we both have very different views on how to ‘live a little’.” Stiles slapped at his hands as he air quoted the last words. Scott stopped at his locker and Stiles shuffled to the right to get to his. 

“But Scott, we haven’t had a mu-” Scott quickly raised his hand and pointedly looked around the students scattered in the hallway. Stiles huffed and started fumbling with his lock. “We haven’t had a 187 in ages. Dad is out there right now.” 

“That’s because he is the sheriff. You really should leave that alone.” Scott had been feeling uneasy ever since Stiles had grabbed him from his bike and started rambling about what he had heard over the frequency his dad used for work. Scott had grown to ignore Stiles’ tampering with police resources.

“This town is the worst when it comes to entertainment! Don’t tell me you’re not a tiny bit curious,” Stiles exclaimed as he banged his locker shut and turned around to jab his history book into Scott’s ribs. Scott waved him off. The bell rang through the hallway and the two started towards history. 

Stiles stopped short of the door to let Scott walk past first. “We’re going. Our boring teen lives need some fun,” he said with a kind of finality Scott had learned to accept. Stiles would go to the crime scene either way. And Scott did have to admit that he was at least curious as to how the homicide happened. 

___

“Allison, there is no debate to be had. We’re going!” Allison hid her face in her arms that were folded on the desk in front of her. 

“Lydia, I really don’t feel like a party,” she mumbled into her forearm. She heard Lydia sigh. 

“But we have to go. People are starting to wonder if I am still in the right friend circle,” Lydia said with a hint of desperation Allison didn’t like at all. Lydia pushed her hands flat onto the table and Allison looked up at her friend. Lydia looked at her with pleading eyes. 

“It’s Danny, Ally. Danny does great parties.” Allison pulled herself off the table and leaned back in her chair. She knew why Lydia wanted to go so badly. Danny had been Jackson’s best friend and Allison knew Lydia was still struggling with her boyfriend’s death. It hadn’t been enough time to come to terms with it. 

“Fine, we’ll go. What sort of party is it?” She smiled when Lydia’s eyes lit up ever so slightly. 

“Well, he just said that he rented out that loft downtown.” Lydia opened her chemistry book and flipped through the pages, twirling her highlighter around. Allison stared at her own pile of school books. 

“What loft? There’s heaps.” Lydia looked up briefly, eyebrows scrunched up. She shrugged. 

“I think he meant the one in William’s Street. The place has been empty for the last couple of years. They do parties there all the time, Ally.” Allison swallowed and hastily opened her book. She refused to let her mind wander. 

“So what’s the date?” She ran her fingers over the text in her English book. She hated reading in the mornings. 

“This Saturday. How about we go shopping after school? I need a new skirt.” 

___

Scott looked up from his lunch to see Stiles staring at something behind his back. Scott furrowed his eyebrows. Stiles looked completely zoned out. He slowly turned around to see what had Stiles like that. The lacrosse jocks were on their way to lunch practice and shoving each other around. Scott turned back around. 

“You okay?” Stiles jumped and looked at him. Scott knew his concern was showing on his face now. Stiles looked… weird. Different. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Stiles said and cleared his throat. He looked down onto his lunch and continued eating.  


“Look at the bench warmers!” Scott sighed, refusing to turn around. Stiles flipped the jocks off and shoved his tray away from himself. Scott studied his friend’s face. He knew that look by heart. It had gotten him into too many sticky situations not to know what Stiles was thinking. 

“We’re not skipping school to go to that crime scene,” he said and pointed his fork at Stiles. Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, bottom lip jutting out. 

“But by the time school is out it’ll be useless going there,” Stiles said and Scott knew there was nothing that would get the idea out of his head. He still tried. 

“We can’t miss bio, Stiles. I’m already far enough behind.” Stiles leaned forward, elbows pushing his lunch tray further towards Scott. The gleam in his eyes did nothing to reassure Scott. 

“We’ll figure out a way to fix that. But it’s not every day there is a murder scene to inspect!” Scott quickly scanned the students around him. Some heads turned away from them and Scott leaned back in his chair. He did want to know what had happened. But he didn’t want to give his mother more grief. 

Almost as if Stiles had peeked into his head, the boy reached across the table and slapped Scott’s shoulder. “I’ll take the blame, don’t worry.” Scott raised his eyebrows. 

“How are you going to get close enough without your dad kicking your ass?” Stiles grinned, victory etched into his features. Scott ran his hand through his hair. Stiles would get the two of them arrested one of these days. 

“In that area there are heaps of places to hide behind, Scotty. Don’t you stress, I got this.” 

“I have a couple of scars that can prove otherwise,” he said with a lopsided grin. He shook his head. Of course Stiles had managed to get him to agree. Scott couldn’t even be mad. 

___

“What do you have last period, Ally?” Allison unscrewed her water bottle and looked at Lydia, who had her hands clasped, her fork dangling in between her hands. 

“Uh, free period actually, why?” Lydia smiled brightly and put down her fork. Allison put down her water and raised her eyebrows. 

“Well, so have I. Which means, our shopping trip just moved up to an earlier time,” Lydia said enthusiastically. Allison continued eating, screwing up her face at a slightly bitter taste in her mouth. Lydia poked the fork in the air, drawing swirls. 

“Are you putting outfits together again,” Allison stated more than asked. Lydia rolled her eyes and dug back into her food. Allison looked around the lunch hall; the conversations of other student making the air around her vibrate. 

“It’s not every day that there is a murder scene to inspect!” Allison furrowed her brows and turned slightly towards the source of the excited shout. The words still made her skin crawl. Lydia must have heard it too, shifting her body like Allison. 

Two boys Allison had seen in her history class were sitting a few tables away, the pale one sporting a massive grin on his face. She shook her head and turned away. Lydia had a pondering expression on her face. 

“With that sale still on we should be able to get a whole lot of bargains”, she said and put down her fork. Allison nodded and quickly stuck her hand into her bag to check for her wallet. Lydia quickly finished her lunch and pushed the tray to the side. She put a book next to her tray. Allison raised her eyebrows when she saw the title. 

“What? Archaic Latin doesn’t learn itself.”


	6. Chapter Two

Stiles was tapping his fingers on the wheel of his jeep impatiently as they waited at a red light. Energy was thrumming under his skin and he shifted. He wanted, no needed, to look at the crime scene. The body was long gone by now, Stiles knew that. But he wanted to have a look. He had to have a look.

Scott next to him let out a startled sound as the light turned green and Stiles slammed his foot down. “Whoa dude. I doubt it’d be any good for us to get pulled over.” 

“Eh, there’s a murder to look at; both me and the cops won’t bother with a little speeding.” Stiles continued tapping his fingers, maybe to stop them from shaking like he knew they would. They had started trembling when he had heard code 187 from his father’s mouth and he had barely managed to suppress it. Of course the Sheriff hadn’t talked to him about the case, but really – he should know better than to accept the call in the living room. It had almost been too easy to eavesdrop. 

After all, the Sheriff knew how quickly Stiles got into police matters.

“Apart from the fact that I am exactly on the speed limit, obviously,” Stiles added after a few seconds of silence.

Scott scoffed and Stiles turned a corner. They were close now and Stiles slowed down. Two more corners and they would be at the scene. Stiles pulled over. He turned his head and grinned at his best friend. Time for investigation. He hid his shaking hands from Scott’s eyes. He would be worried. 

“Wouldn’t want my dad to recognize my baby,” Stiles said with a pat on the dashboard and climbed out. He had to see the crime scene now.

\---

Scott jumped out on the other side of the jeep. “This better be worth all the skipping we are currently doing,” he said with little regret. He wasn’t missing biology so he was almost okay with it. Stiles clapped him on the shoulder. 

Scott didn’t understand his friend’s obsession with crime. He knew that Stiles’ father factored in, but Scott also knew that Sheriff Stilinski tried hard to keep his job separate from his private life. And still Stiles had dragged Scott to many previous crime scenes, no matter how petty the crime seemed. And every time Stiles barely managed to keep them hidden from the sheriff. 

Scott wondered what would happen if the sheriff caught Stiles at the scene of a homicide. The word caused a heavy feeling in his stomach.

“It’s just one period, we’ll survive the withdrawal.” Scott rolled his eyes at Stiles’ words and let himself be pulled along by Stiles. 

“So what is it that makes you so intrigued?” Scott asked after the first corner they took. Stiles let go of his arm and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. He grinned lopsided and shrugged. 

“It’s a murder, Scotty. Homicide. Something actually interesting has happened, of course I am checking it out!” He bumped his shoulder into Scott as they continued their way towards the next corner. The feeling grew heavier and Scott blinked to keep his attention on the road.

“But why is murder so interesting? It’s pretty horrible.” Scott swallowed at his own words but forced himself to ignore the lead in his stomach. Stiles threw him a glance and Scott hoped his face didn’t spell out any of his thoughts as he watched his feet place one step in front of the other. 

“That’s why, though,” Stiles said and Scott turned his head. Stiles pulled his right hand out and drew a vague shape into the air in front of him. 

“Somebody made an active choice to end a life. What brings people to do that? And how did they do it?” Stiles shrugged. “I find it interesting, that’s all.” 

Scott started chewing on the inside of his cheek. He wanted to go back to school now; he regretted agreeing to Stiles’ plan. He pushed down the feeling of dread and sickness and rolled his shoulders. It was just the scene, he would be okay. Nobody had to know how awful he felt with his thoughts racing. 

Stiles skipped ahead of him and peeked around the corner. Scott swallowed harshly and shook himself. Nothing to be worried about. Stiles would satisfy his curiosity and then they’d be out of here just as fast as they had arrived. Scott took a few deep breaths, hoping to get rid of the sick feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. 

Stiles had gone still. Scott furrowed his eyebrows and tucked his head over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles raised his hand almost unnoticeably. Scott got the hint. Stiles was listening. 

Scott followed his example and let his eyes wander over the scene. It looked normal enough and relief washed over him. He wasn’t sure what else he had expected. 

\---

Stiles saw his father talk to a young woman, who had her arms wrapped around her. She looked shaken and Stiles pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to stop from smiling. 

“She’s the one who found the body,” he hissed low enough for Scott to pick it up. He felt Scott shift against his back. Stiles briefly glanced back at his best friend and furrowed his brows. Scott didn’t look too good. Well, Stiles supposed, not everybody was as happy as the sheriff’s son to look at a crime scene. 

“You okay, Scotty?” Scott nodded and quickly shook his body. Stiles nudged him with his shoulder before turning back. He couldn’t quite hear what his father was saying, but of course he knew the outline of the questioning. 

“Stiles,” Scott whispered and Stiles turned back around. Scott shook his head. Stiles raised his eyebrows. Scott looked nervous and Stiles couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t like anything scary or gory was in sight – the crime scene looked completely normal from their position. Well, apart from the police cars. 

“I’m still not sure what you are trying to accomplish or find,” Scott said and stepped back. Stiles huffed. Scott had stuffed his hands into his hoodie and pulled his shoulders up slightly. 

“I wanna try and figure it out, Scotty. Obviously.” 

“I don’t see how you’re going to do that.” Stiles sighed dramatically and with one last glance turned away and pressed his back against the bricks. 

“Okay, you got me. I have no idea what I’m doing here. I just…” Stiles trailed off as he ran through the crime scene again. He narrowed his eyes and lifted his hand, indicating for Scott to stay where he was. Something was off, but he couldn’t think what. 

He peeked around the corner again and let his eyes wander around the scene. His father had put his notepad down and looked ready to take a few steps away from the witness. The few cops crouched were still discussing something, Stiles assumed they were looking at the exact spot of the murder. He wondered if blood was still on the blacktop. He searched for whatever detail had put his brain off and felt his fingers dig into the brick wall. 

Then his eyes caught sight of a guy around his father’s age, maybe younger, standing a few feet away from the scene. He was standing in an alley straight across from Scott and Stiles, far enough in the shadows for the sheriff to possibly overlook him. Stiles squinted to make out the guy’s face and flinched back when he saw two blue eyes fixed onto his. A smirk was plastered on the man’s face, almost as if he knew why Stiles had showed up. Stiles found the thought unsettling.

“Stiles?” Scott looked at him with confusion. Stiles waved his hands around. He didn’t know why, but the presence of the guy made him uneasy and he wanted to know why. 

“Someone else is hanging around. They saw me.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “What?” 

Stiles resisted the urge to look again. But Scott tucked his head against the bricks and Stiles could see him trying to look for the guy. He frowned. 

“That guy looks scary,” he said and looked at Stiles, taking slow steps backwards. Stiles nodded furiously. He straightened his t-shirt from where it had hitched up and leaned his head against the wall behind him. He had to think. 

“Dude,” Scott whispered and he sounded scared. Stiles considered ignoring him, but thought better of it. Maybe Scott had found something. 

“Yeah?” 

“What if that guy is the killer?” Scott looked genuinely scared. Stiles worried his lip, turning the possibility over in his head. 

He shook his head. “I doubt he would return to the crime scene. That’s like murder 101, never go back. That would make things too easy for cops, don’t you think?” He knew that the killer would have to be really confident and incredibly stupid to return to their crime scene. 

Scott sighed. “It was just a thought.” 

“I get where you’re coming from,” Stiles mumbled and looked back. “He looked evil.”

The two friends exchanged a look and Scott started shaking his head. “No Stiles.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” 

“You were thinking it, your face told me.” 

Stiles huffed in offence. “Oh yeah? What did my face say?” 

“We are not talking to the scary dude that just saw us at a crime scene.” 

“Maybe the scary dude knows something!” Stiles pushed himself off the wall and rubbed his temples. He just hoped his dad wouldn’t catch them here. But he needed to find out who the guy was. He had to. 

Scott shook his head again and started pulling Stiles away. Stiles pushed his feet against the ground. Scott groaned. 

“Stiles, we need to leave. Come on.” 

“I need to find stuff out, Scott. I’m dying for action.” 

“Dude, are you broken? Murder isn’t fun.” Stiles noticed how Scott’s voice had just the slightest quiver in it and pulled his hand out of Scott’s grip. 

“I want to at least find out why someone was lurking around a homicide scene,” he said with defiance in his voice, staring Scott down. Scott shifted from one foot to the other. 

“We were just lurking around, too. Maybe he is like you, curious.” 

Stiles didn’t really believe that, he knew there was something off. But right now, Stiles also knew there was no way to get to the man without his father noticing that Stiles had showed up at another crime scene. He sighed in defeat. 

“Can we just leave?” Scott asked and pushed hair out of his eyes. 

“Fine,” Stiles said. He knew he sounded like a sulking child, but right now that was exactly what he felt like. Scott cleared his throat and started walking. 

“We’re going past the coffee shop and buying donuts,” Stiles added as he followed Scott. He really needed some sugar in his system. Even if it was just to start figuring out just why he felt uneasy under the creepy dude's stare.

“Well, we do still have time to kill before practice.”


	7. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this, I struggled with writing this the past weeks. But here I am and I hope it isn't too sloppy. I'm still in the process of introducing the story so I apologize about the slow pace. I hope you enjoy it :)

Allison climbed into Lydia’s car and smiled at her best friend. The strawberry blonde smiled back and started the car. Allison leaned back. “So where are we going?” Lydia shot her a look, eyebrow raised.  
  
“Macy’s, duh.” The strawberry blonde pulled out of the school parking lot. Allison kept her eyes on Lydia’s face. She could almost see the part where the mask her best friend had strapped on met the real Lydia. She wanted to reach over and hug her, tell her than grieving was okay.  
  
Lydia had refused to be seen grieving over Jackson, had put on a mask for the public. Allison hated it. Lydia dodged all questions and Allison stopped asking, but she still hated it.  
  
Jackson had died barely two months ago. Allison knew that Lydia bottling up her sadness was the unhealthiest thing she had seen Lydia do. Some people suggested Lydia just wasn’t as sad, but Allison knew. Lydia had been her friend for too long for Allison to overlook the mask.  
  
“Ally, you’re doing the staring thing again.” Allison rolled her eyes.  
  
“So you got any outfits planned out that you’re going to purchase?” Allison asked to fill the silence, the hum of the radio not enough.  
  
Lydia stopped mumbling along to the lyrics and shrugged slightly. “Well, I know what colors I want.”  
  
Allison looked out of the window and swallowed as they passed the two alleys she had decided to never walk through again. She hastily averted her eyes and started fiddling with her fingers. Her mind refused to stop wandering to the alley. The anniversary would be coming up soon.  
  
Allison hated that she remembered the exact day. Who was she kidding, she remembered every detail of the scene. Lydia turned a corner sharply and Allison looked up. Lydia had narrowed her eyes and Allison looked up the road ahead.  
  
“What the hell happened there?” Two police cars, one of which the sheriff’s car, were standing in the middle of the road, blocking it effectively. Allison saw police tape peeking through behind the cars. She swallowed.  
  
“For god’s sake,” Lydia hissed and jumped out of the car, engine still running.  
  
“What are you doing?” Allison leaned over to catch Lydia’s eyes. Her friend crossed her arms.  
  
“I’m going to ask what is going on, of course. And then we’ll have to find a way to Macy’s that doesn’t include going all the way back.” Lydia flipped her hair, but something in her face seemed off to Allison. She furrowed her brows, before sighing and undoing her seatbelt. She felt incredibly uncomfortable walking over to the police cars as she kept behind Lydia. One of the officers that looked way too young to Allison, turned around and spotted the teenagers.  
  
“This is a crime scene, girls. I suggest you turn around.”  
  
“What on earth happened to get the only street that isn’t jam packed with traffic blocked?” Allison stopped slightly behind Lydia as her best friend looked up at the officer. She busied herself, fingers pulling at a single thread in her jacket.  
  
“We apologize for inconveniences, but this is still a crime scene. If you want to get to the town center, you just go back a hundred meters and take the left corner at the small coffee shop.” The officer smiled slightly and turned away again, walking back to his colleagues.  
  
“Come on, Lydia. Let’s get going.” Allison grabbed Lydia’s elbow and tugged at it. Lydia sighed and they walked back to the car. Allison clipped her seatbelt in before looking up to find Lydia still standing next to the driver’s door.  
  
“Lydia?” Lydia slowly sat down and Allison noticed the paleness immediately. She reached over and grabbed Lydia’s hand that was shaking. “What happened? Are you okay?”  
  
“It’s a murder, Allison.” Lydia’s voice was quiet and she wrapped her free hand around the steering wheel. Allison’s throat turned dry and she swallowed hard.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I saw blood and one of the other officers was talking about autopsy results.” Lydia shook her head and pulled her hand out of Allison’s grip. She got the car out of park and turned it quickly.  
  
Allison turned back to the police cars. A murder. Her stomach turned at the word.  
  
\---  
  
Lydia refused to let Allison see how freaked out she was. She cursed internally when her knuckles turned white. She briefly wondered if the road into Beacon Hills had been blocked off like that, too. She swallowed. That hadn’t been murder, it had been an accident.  
  
An accident.  
  
She sighed and turned down the corner the officer had pointed out. Lydia hated when her thoughts got away from her, but she couldn’t help it. She sneaked a glance at Allison. The brunette looked just as caught up in thoughts as Lydia found herself to be.  
  
Sometimes Lydia wished she could tell Allison about the night. She really wanted to break down and have Allison hug her and tell her that it was just an accident. That she couldn’t have known the impact Jackson would make, that him dying was completely unforeseeable.  
  
But Lydia never found the words. Everything sounded awful in her head. So she decided to avoid the name Jackson completely.  
  
But Danny was someone she refused to avoid. She was grateful for the boy’s understanding and compassion. She felt guilty around him, but still clung to their friendship. She knew that the party was something to get Danny’s mind off of Jackson and to busy himself. Lydia wasn’t going to stop something that was part of a coping mechanism. And maybe she just really needed one of Danny’s great parties to forget, even if it was just for one night.  
  
“We lost like twenty minutes,” Allison said suddenly and Lydia sighed loudly.  
  
“Well, we better make up for lost time then, huh?”  
  
\---  
  
Lydia couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were being watched as they strolled through the store. With the way Allison kept turning around and scanning the area, her friend was feeling it, too.  
  
“I feel followed,” Lydia mumbled finally and Allison nodded slowly as she ran her fingers over a skirt. Lydia shook her head and pushed Allison’s hands off of the skirt. “You have that color already.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s because I like it,” Allison defended herself. Lydia shook her head again and moved the skirt along. She felt Allison tense next to her and she bit her lip.  
  
“Ally?” Allison grabbed onto Lydia’s wrist and turned them around.  
  
“That guy’s staring at us,” she hissed and Lydia resisted the urge to turn around and look for whoever was ogling them. She slowly turned to the rack of floral skirts to her right and flicked her eyes to the direction Allison was slightly flicking her fingers at.  
  
A guy in maybe his late thirties or early forties was standing a few feet away, cold blue eyes shamelessly fixed onto where Lydia and Allison were standing. Allison’s grip on her wrist tightened. The guy crossed his arms slowly and a smirk started to split his face as he noticed Lydia watching him.  
  
“Creep,” Lydia mumbled and focused back onto the bright patterns in front of her. She felt Allison nod furiously. She also felt the stare of the guy burning through her neck.  
  
He had almost looked at her as if he _knew_. It made Lydia anxious. She let go of the skirt and looked up at Allison. “Let’s look through the shirts, okay?” Allison nodded again and the two hastily walked away from the skirts, feeling the burn of blue eyes on their backs.  
  
“That guy freaked me out so badly,” Allison said as soon as they reached the shirts. She threw a glance back over her shoulder and Lydia saw her shoulder’s slump in slight relief. “Can’t see him anymore.”  
  
“People like that should be kept form entering stores like this,” Lydia said and grabbed a dark blue shirt, holding it against Allison. She still felt anxious, she couldn’t stop thinking about the knowing smirk the guy had directed at her.  
  
“He looked at us as if we were hiding something, don’t you think?” Lydia froze shortly, her eyes flicking up to see Allison looking down on herself.  
  
“Yeah,” she mumbled and put the shirt back on the rack. “Purple suits you better than dark blue.”  
  
“I like both,” Allison shrugged and pulled out another shirt, a lot lighter than the one Lydia had grabbed and put it in front of her torso. Lydia tilted her head, forcing herself to focus on the shopping and forget about the creep.  
  
“Yeah, that one’s good. Do you have anything to go with it?”  
  
\---  
  
Allison hated that she had been so thrown off the entire afternoon. And the look of _‘I know all your secrets’_ that weird guy had had on his face unsettled her immensely. She smiled as Lydia walked out of the changing rooms in a floral skirt and a dark top. Lydia twirled slightly and regarded herself in the mirror.  
  
“With something else over the top this would be pretty cute, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Allison agreed. Lydia threw a smile at her and looked back in the mirror. She narrowed her eyes and Allison tilted her head. "You okay, Lydia?"  
  
She bit the inside of her cheek when she saw the guy from earlier in the reflection, standing back near the register. His arms were crossed and his head cocked, that freaky smirk still on his face.  
  
“Crap, he freaks me out.” Lydia walked back into the changing room quickly and Allison pulled out her phone, busying herself from looking at the guy again.  
  
Macy’s really needed to write up a policy against creepy middle aged men ogling teenage girls in their stores.


	8. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. First of all, I am so, so sorry for leaving this fic cold for so long. I've been having trouble with the story line, a lot of things I was trying weren't really working. But I haven't given up on this story! This chapter sadly isn't what I first expected it to be, but I'm still happy I got it down.   
> I hope you enjoy :)

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from tapping his fingers against his desk, no pattern recognizable in the jittery movement. Next to him Scott groaned. “Dude, seriously.” 

“Sorry,” Stiles said absentmindedly, not stopping the tapping. His mind was somewhere else, and he knew Scott could tell exactly where it was when his friend grabbed hold of Stiles’ hand and pressed it flat against the table. 

“Stop obsessing, Stiles, for god’s sake.” He let go of Stiles’ hand with a stern glance to him, and Stiles sniggered. 

“You can’t pull off mad that well, Scotty.” He pushed his lunch tray away from himself, unable to pretend he was interested in the food for another second. He started picking at his nailbeds. His mind was stubbornly stuck at the guy lurking around the crime scene, at his smile directed right at Stiles. 

“Just stop thinking about it. Your dad will sort it out, it’s his job,” Scott sighed and took a drink from the water bottle in his right hand. He pointedly looked at Stiles when Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m serious.” 

“I know, dude. But that guy we saw,” Stiles looked around to ensure their bubble of privacy in the buzzing cafeteria, “I can’t stop thinking about that. He looked like he knew exactly that we would be there.” He looked back at Scott, who nodded slowly, a look of contemplation on his face. Stiles pushed his hands against his thighs when he noticed them shaking again. He slouched back in his seat in an attempt to relax his body.

“It’s still not our place to go looking, Stiles. This is serious stuff.” Stiles closed his eyes and breathed in deeply to stop his heart from thumping against his ribs. He had worked himself up, he knew it. It wasn’t a big deal. He hated how he had fixated on a small, if creepy incident.

“Yeah,” he sighed and leaned back slightly, running his hand through his hair before hastily dropping it out of sight again. He didn’t need Scott to be worried, no matter how adorable his best friend could be when he fussed. Scott shook his head and pulled out his phone. 

“Hey, I figured we should get some more lacrosse practice in tonight?” Scott looked up from the screen with a smile Stiles would never learn to say no to. Even with the prospect of lacrosse and physical exercise.

“What did you have in mind, big guy?” Scott shrugged and started tapping away on his phone. Stiles forced his mind into the present and leaned back forward to lean across the table. 

“I was thinking later today, five maybe? I gotta see mum at work after school.” Scott shoved his phone back in his pocket and looked up. Stiles nodded. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“I really need to get my catch on point,” Scott said and finished off his lunch with a few bites. “Maybe you can do some more practicing with aiming while we do that?”

Stiles waved him off. “Yeah, yeah got it.” It was no secret that he would never truly get the hang of lacrosse.

\---

Lydia closed her locker and turned to face Allison, who was leaning against the locker next to Lydia’s with her chemistry book clutched to her chest. “So are we still on for studying tonight?” They had agreed to use the brilliant weather for a nice picnic, and a nice double date with their school books. Allison nodded with a smile and pushed herself away from the lockers. 

“I figured the park would do just fine,” the brunette said as she waited for Lydia to finish fumbling with her bag. “As long as we’re back home before the curfew we should all set.” Lydia smacked her lips at the word ‘curfew’, but nodded. The two girls started walking to class as the bell rang above their heads. 

“I saw that creep from Macy’s this morning,” Allison suddenly said and Lydia suppressed the need to flinch. She hadn’t been able to brush off the feeling of being watched since they had seen that guy the day before. It had made her ride to school increasingly frustrating. 

“Really?” She hoped her voice wasn’t too high pitched. Allison nodded with a slight edge to her smile. 

“He was looking at me at a red light. Smiled and everything.” Her friend shivered and Lydia bit her lip. “I kind of feel watched all the time, now.” Lydia nodded furiously at Allison’s words. 

“Same with me. I don’t even know why.” Well, she did know why. Because the guy knew, no matter how unreasonable that thought seemed to her. He knew everything. That small smirk he had given her yesterday, eyes looking right into her soul… It made her skin crawl again. Allison tensed next to her. 

“Do you think he might be stalking us or something?” Lydia had had that idea as well, but she knew one encounter with the guy – no matter how unsettling - wasn’t enough to report a crime. She shrugged instead and walked into their chemistry lab, Mr. Harris already writing on the blackboard. The screeching of the piece of chalk made her grit her teeth. She and Allison sat down, Allison turning to her immediately. 

“Let’s just hope this was the last we saw of him. If we see him again, we’ll go to the cops,” Lydia said, hating the look of uncertainty Allison was wearing. Allison nodded and sighed. 

“Hey, worst case: I know where Dad keeps his weapons. Mum always did say I should learn how to use them.” Lydia was taken aback, even with Allison grinning to show it was a joke. Allison had a hard time talking about her mother usually. And Lydia had no doubt Allison already knew how to use every lethal piece of armory Chris Argent had hidden somewhere in the Argent house. Lydia still felt a little unsettled at the thought. 

The second bell rang and Mr. Harris turned around, addressing the class with his usual cold demeanor. Lydia disliked the guy, she wasn’t quite sure why. The door of the classroom burst open and two boys stumbled into the class, receiving the lecture of tardiness by Mr. Harris. 

Lydia sighed and opened her book, willing any thoughts of dead people and creepy, knowing guys far away from her mind. Chemistry was better and more satisfying in so many ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sadly this was another filler chapter, but the next one is already on its way and I finally get Peter into it. I will try to get this fic back up to where I initially intended it to be and will see you guys soon! Thanks for sticking with this fic for so long. Kudos and comments would genuinely make my day <3

**Author's Note:**

> English is my second language, so if you see any mistakes of any form I would really appreciate you pointing them out so I can fix them. Feedback would be amazing! <3


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